


Sweet and Saccharine

by Epithimia



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blackrom, Crime Fighting, F/M, Gang warfare, Hate Sex, Humanstuck, Organized Crime, Street Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epithimia/pseuds/Epithimia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crime Lord Gamzee Makara has been unstoppable to the boys in blue for near 7 years. Genius crime buster Terezi Pyrope, was the first and last to leave any lasting impression, serving as a cruel reminder to all others who would dare try. So what chance does average detective Jane Crocker have to bring him to justice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet and Saccharine

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I had kicking around for a while now and thought I'd give it a shot. I can't promise this will update very often but I just wanted to get it out there. :3

_An issue, no, perhaps more of an idea that has filtered in and out of this boondoggle of a case is that of addiction. It’s used most colorfully in literature, especially in character driven literature in order to more carefully craft an internal conflict with which most readers can identify with.  
Everybody has an addiction, don’t they? It can be alcohol or chocolate; technology or even the all too rare bibliophile. Naturally there are also addicts to things like love and relationships, particularly bad relationships: the kind of relationship that husks the soul and dries out all common sense in search of that next big high. _

_It’s all rather ridiculous that ordinary people can get bogged down by these kinds of things. Why dive down deep into the inky black ocean when you can stay where the sun still illuminates the corals and the tiny fishes while you’re snorkeling about?_

You think this to yourself after finding your spare pair of unbroken glasses in your side table drawer. You imagine a grand sweep of your apartment as you pull your shirt back on and wade your way out of your bedroom. Naturally it’s a wreck this morning and you only had yourself to blame. You picture black and white film as the proper medium instead of the muted teal and hazy gray of early morning. 

You realize that you had pulled on the white button-down blouse from the night before.

Noir is always the way to go, you mentally quip, even the trashiest scenes in noir look classier even if the protagonist wakes up in squalor. 

When you were younger, you had the occasional flighty aspiration to actually pen something worth reading. Instead you chose to peruse the chortle-worthy desecrations your friend would compose, putting off creation another day. 

It was funny how long ago 16 had been. 28 wasn’t much more fun; same workload but much more dangerous than English lit had been.

You sigh and shut the front door that he had carelessly, rudely, left wide open as he had left.

You go back into your bedroom and get some confounded pants on at least. Dignity couldn’t be so far away as to keep you half naked for long. It doesn’t surprise you nearly as much as it ordinarily would that your drawer of pants found their way into your living room. You peer up at your face in the mirror above the television set. There sat a purple kiss mark on your cheek; further south were a couple of bite marks.

And here you thought you didn’t like it rough.

Well, you don’t under normal circumstances anyway. You don’t even want to figure out why the spot between your shoulder blades feels like you’d been stabbed with a fireplace poker. 

As you have begun to do out of habit, you go downstairs to your mail slot and find your name.  


**Jane Crocker**

Inside is no mail. However, there is a slip of watermarked paper sitting halfway out of the slot.

_1’V3 GOT 4N 1D34 OF WH3R3 MR. GR4P3SM34R FUCKF4C3 H4S GOTT3N TO_  
TH3 1D1OT’S GOTT3N V3RY C4R3L3SS, 1F YOU WORK F4ST YOU C4N CORN3R H1M TON1GHT OR TOMORROW  
B3TT3R G3T CR4CK1N’ C4K3 G1RL 

You would have been elated last night. However, it was no longer last night.

Your chest sinks painfully as though caving in. You hold onto the letter and slough back upstairs. Thankfully he hasn’t gone sniffing through your mail. That or he saw no point in letting you keep what would classify as old evidence.

_Why dive down indeed? Because there are things down there no one else has found or seen. As cold and defenseless as you’d be, you can’t help but want to steal a glance before heading back into the light._

You briefly consider missing a day at the office.


End file.
